


Self-isolating? I can help!

by Egleriel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: COVID-19 is really serious but lets find the light, F/M, Fluff, Isolation, Modern AU, Quarantine, Stranger is a dog, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23205880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Egleriel/pseuds/Egleriel
Summary: A chirpy volunteer offers to walk Sandor's dog while he's self-isolating at home. Utter fluff.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 72
Kudos: 231





	1. Chapter 1

The card had fallen out of the pile when he collected his mail from the porch. He likely wouldn’t have spotted it otherwise – it would have gone into the recycling along with the free local tabloid and the desperate takeaway menus emphasising their owners' stellar hygiene record and delivery options. Something about the bright colour and big non-threatening font on the card had given him pause, though he hadn’t known at the time that it would apply to him soon enough.

_HELLO! If you are self-isolating, I can help._

_My name is…_ Sansa

 _I live locally at…_ Stonehill Terrace

 _I can help with…_ Picking up shopping / Urgent supplies / Errands / Dog-walking

_Just call or text me and I’ll do my best to help!_

A phone number was printed just below, and on the back of the wallet-sized card was a list of helplines, information websites and volunteer groups that had sprouted up as Kings Landing went into lockdown over this bloody virus.

But dogwalking. Fuck. He hadn’t thought of that. Sandor dumped his bills on the kitchen counter and and looked out into the garden. His big stupid mastiff was woofing at the seagulls that wheeled in the sky above, hopping with impotent rage that they’d invaded his airspace. The dog was placid enough, but Sandor didn’t want to think how much pent-up energy would be unleashed on his little house if the furry fucker went a few days without their morning run.

Judging from the piece of clip-art on the card – an illustration of a red-haired girl on a green Vespa – he doubted this _Sansa_ was the volunteer for the job, but he tucked the card away by the phone just in case.

* * *

Sandor didn’t need the thermometer to tell him that he was fucking sick. The racking cough, pounding headache and total lack of energy were bigger clues than the little digital readout. Didn’t need to be a medic to know 38.2 was a bad number.

“Have you or any of your close contacts travelled to a badly-affected area in the past four weeks?” asked the call-handler in his maester’s office. “Yi Ti? Yunkai? Braavos? Dorne?”

“No. I flew back from Lys on the 12th though.” Fucking airports. Breathing every fucker’s air from every part of the known world so some cunt could pat him down in security. Could’ve been that smirking security cunt asking him about the metal pins in his leg.

“That’s good to know, Mr Clegane,” said the handler. She asked a few more questions about his symptoms and then rattled off a long list of instructions. It was a bit deflating to realise that self-isolation was pretty much identical to his normal lifestyle, just with extra handwashing.

He dumped some pellets into Stranger’s bowl, knocked back a couple of painkillers and prepared to go back to bed until the testing team arrived. Hours later, he was woken not by the doorbell, but by the big mutt huffing and puffing at his bedside, shuffling his feet and staring intently at Sandor.

“Sorry fella,” he rasped at the big dog. “No 5 miler for us today.”

It said something about how rotten he felt that he didn’t even miss the routine of his morning run. Sandor gulped down some water, grabbed another painkiller and checked his emails. It looked like his post on the ‘Self-Isolation Help’ group hadn’t garnered a willing volunteer to walk Stranger.

  
He sighed, stared the big dog in the eyes, and keyed the number for ‘Sansa’.


	2. Chapter 2

She turned the corner of his street just as the ambulance drove off, its hazmat-clad crew freshly in possession of a swab that would soon tell whether he had the dreaded virus.

It was clear before she even got close that this was Sansa. The red hair was one clue; the way she craned her neck to peer at each house from time to time was another (Sandor guessed she was looking for the house numbers.) Her return text said she'd be there around 4, and it had to be around ten to by now.

 _Punctual_. Sandor approved of that.

He made an expedition up the stairs to grab his phone, forgotten on the bedside table when the testing team arrived. Every joint felt like a badly-oiled hinge, and every muscle ached like Hell Week during his special forces training. He glanced out the window to see her slowing to a stop outside the house. Was it a fever-mirage or was she actually the most beautiful woman he'd ever set eyes on? A pale face, unblemished as porcelain, turned up towards his front door and huge eyes sparkled in greeting when they met his in the upstairs window. She smiled and gave a jaunty wave, looking for all the world like a princess from a kids' movie. If they tended to wear yoga pants and oversized Targaryen University hoodies. Who knew these days.

Through the fever and the aches, his stomach swooped and a tingle went through him. Sandor half-raised his hand in response, suddenly insecure. _I must look like a fucking psychopath_. Big and tattooed and sweaty as fuck, his white tee and grey sweatpants sticking uncomfortably. No wonder she was staying near the kerb. The phone buzzed in his hand, twice in quick succession.

_> Hi! I'm outside._

_> If we're doing social distancing, we need to stay 2m apart - which makes it a bit hard to make introductions properly! So hello._

A fresh message appeared as he read.

_> Why don't you bring your pup out the porch and we can chat through the door?_

Sandor looked down at her through the blinds and gave a nod that was probably too subtle for her to see.

_> Ok._

"Hello, fella!" Sansa cooed when Stranger padded out to meet her. Somehow, she didn't look any more _real_ up close. She held out a hand, palm up, for the dog to sniff. 

"Uh... I don't know how to thank you for this," Sandor rumbled. He didn't think he'd ever felt so aware of his scars: they might as well have been on fire again for how conspicuous they felt. That might have been related to the fever though.

Sansa didn't take her eyes off the dog. "Oh there's no need," she said softly. "My shifts are cancelled, I don't have any care responsibilities - what else would I be doing?"

Sandor mentally catalogued all of the unread books and unplayed games he'd be ploughing through if he weren't ill. He certainly wouldn't be offering to post letters for vulnerable old ladies cocooning against the pandemic. Was there something wrong with _him_ , or something wrong with _her_?

"I'm still grateful," he said. He didn't patronise her by asking whether she was okay to handle his enormous dog. He'd said Dothraki Mastiff in the text and here she was. "Stranger's usually very good on the lead. Strong, though."

"My family kept direwolfhounds," she said with another dazzling, movie-star smile. "He's responding to all the CSPCA command signals - did you take him to some of our classes?"

Sandor was surprised. "Yeah, when he was a pup. Do you work there?"

"I run the Well-Behaved Walkies course in Darry Park a few times a year, but I'm not full-time or anything."

Volunteered with animals and now with vulnerable people. She probably ran half-marathons for worthy causes and spent the holidays helping soup kitchens. And here he was, maimed with half a face, just one more charity case starstruck by the cartoon princess. 

She looked up at him. "Is there anything I need to know about him? Things that stress him out, local dogs that he's had problems with?"

Sandor thought for a moment. "No, nothing like that. Expect him to take a colossal shit about five minutes in. Fair warning. Other than that he's fine."

"He's more than fine," Sansa crooned, "He's such a handsome boy. Okay, well, look after yourself Sandor. We'll be back before you know it. Come on Stranger! Let's go!" 

It was dusk when the doorbell startled him out of his nap. Stranger sat obediently at the front door, with Sansa a few metres behind him at the foot of the steps, a new rosy tint in her cheeks. When Sandor opened the door blearily, the girl waved cheerfully and went on her way. He had an odd, prickling, guilty feeling watching her go that had no obvious source. Had he been... dreaming about her? 

By the time he'd locked the door, Stranger was already stretched out in Sandor's spot on the sofa, snoring away. Sandor felt his habitual scowl softening at the sight of the big idiot; then a wild impulse seized him. He hunkered down and snapped a picture of the dog, his huge paws framing his face on the cushion.

_> [IMAGE]_

_> Excuse me ma'am I think you broke my dog_

_> Thanks again. Sandor_

> _. . . [+1962330005 is typing]_

Sandor froze.

_> All part of the service ;) _

_> Is the same time tomorrow okay?_

_> Wow, only if it suits you? He walks the legs off most people._

Sandor cringed. _Don't talk to her about her legs, you idiot._ Was that creepy or was he overthinking it?

_> It's fine, I like the exercise!_

He didn't really have anything further to say to that, and Sandor dozed off again soon afterwards, phone still in his hand. This time, he _definitely_ dreamt about her.


	3. Chapter 3

As the days and nights blended into one long exhausted nightmare, the only spot of routine was the daily appearance of Sansa. Sometimes, when he startled out of sleep and checked his phone, it was to a new and alarming number of cases diagnosed. At others, it was to find a video on social media of another public figure announcing they'd tested positive, which at this stage had about as much novelty and sense of occasion as an influencer starting an athleisure line.

Speaking of athleisure. 

On the third afternoon, _she_ arrived with her bright hair tied up, some subtle makeup and a paper bag that smelt enticingly of warm bread. "Gotta keep your strength up," she chirped; "I hear this bug leaves you too wiped to do much cooking. Just hold on to the dishes and I'll grab them from you when you're well."

While Sansa and Stranger jogged their laps of the big park nearby, Sandor sipped his way to the end of the huge thermos of soup she'd left him. Like the boule of crusty bread, he strongly suspected it was homemade from scratch. Maybe it was because he hadn't felt hungry for three days, and maybe it was because it had been made with kindness or some shit like that, but it tasted like the finest meal Sandor had ever eaten.

"Are you okay for groceries?" Sansa asked when she returned with Stranger. "Toilet paper, meds collected, anything like that?"

"No, I'm good for all that stuff." She seemed a little deflated by his answer, and just for that Sandor kind of regretted being a bulk shopper.

"Glad to hear it," she said. Then she brightened again. "Are you a coffee drinker or a tea drinker, by the way?" 

"Coffee," Sandor frowned.

Sansa quirked an eyebrow at him as she stripped on a fresh pair of gloves. "Let me guess. Black with three shots."

He threw his hands up theatrically. "Fuck sake, why does everyone always think that? I appreciate a cappuccino as much as the next person- actually. Now that you mention it, I _am_ getting low on milk."

"Consider it delivered!" smiled Sansa.

"Hang on, I'll-" Force of habit had Sandor patting his pockets for his wallet when Sansa waved her hand dismissively and giggled.

"Don't worry about it for now. I know where you live. See you tomorrow, Sandor."

That giggle bounced around his head longer than he cared to admit to himself. He also had to admit that he hadn't the faintest idea where his wallet had gone.

The fourth day he felt a little better again, coffee helping him return to some sort of normality. Stranger was already embracing the _new_ normal. He adored Sansa, and had taken to sitting by the door from 3:30 onwards to look out for her.

By the fifth day, his symptoms had more or less resolved. The fever was down, the cough less frequent, the aches and pains milder. Sandor dragged his big weary arse out of bed and made a start on the laundry, washing all the bedclothes he'd soaked with fever-sweat. He was too exhausted to hang them out until the afternoon. Every now and then, he'd remember to check the clock to make sure he was dressed before Sansa arrived; every time, he felt a stab of shame at accepting all her help when he gave so little back himself. To anyone, not just her.

He was too tired to think through how he could show his gratitude when he was fully better. Too tired to get to a conclusion that didn't wander off into his own private fantasy, anyway. Too tired to be properly ashamed either.

That fifth afternoon, when his phone buzzed, there was a pretty girl in the driveway and a takeaway cup on the doorstep. It smelled like a cappuccino. 

" _You_ look better," she said approvingly as she attached Stranger's lead. They were so incongruous, the giant shaggy dog wagging his tail furiously, and the slim elegant woman with her hair tucked back under a black beret. 

"Don't feel it," he griped. "The worst of it's gone but I still have no energy. No wonder the big guy prefers you, he thinks I'm about to keel over. And he might be right." 

"This fickle beast? Don't worry about it, you seem solid enough to me." A little colour appeared in her cheeks, making her eyes stand out even more. "We'd better go before it starts raining. Stranger! Let's go!" she piped, using the tone and command Stranger knew from the Crownlands Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Sandor had half a mind to obey too. 

On the sixth evening, Sansa appeared with a pack of dog treats and a printout showing some tricks he could teach Stranger. "I figure you have a while to go in isolation," she said, not meeting his eyes.

Guilt washed over him. "Ah fuck, look you've really helped me out and I'm sure you have loads of other people who are really stuck at the minute-"

"Oh no, that's not what I meant at all, there's only one other house near here that needs jobs that can be done on foot-"

"-and you have no idea how much I appreciate you helping my dog, it's not his fault I'm too stupid to stay healthy-"

"-I have plenty of time for you two, I wouldn't offer if there was somewhere else I had to be-"

Then Sansa giggled and they both stopped flailing. She bit her lip and looked down. Understanding and relief washed through him. It was so obvious, now that he could see.

"Because," he said slowly, "I'd be more than happy to help you with the self-isolation help stuff when I'm out of the isolation phase. I saw there's a local group or something? On the card?"

Sansa looked surprised, but pleasantly so. "Oh! That would be amazing! I mean, only if you want to."

"I wouldn't offer if there was somewhere else I had to be," he smirked. Ah fuck, what the hell had he signed himself up for. "So uhh... that first evening you took Stranger was the first day I was sick. Think I have to stay in for 14 days from then, as long as this fever stays down."

"Five down, nine to go," Sansa grinned. "Guess you're stuck with me for a while yet."

Dozens of witty comebacks occurred to him that evening, but they all deserted him when she was actually in front of him waving goodbye. And on the sixth night, the government imposed a lockdown.

On the seventh evening, Sansa arrived at 4.30. Stranger was antsy, and Sansa seemed flustered.

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly.

"Is it even okay for you to be out on the street?" he asked.

"As long as I'm by myself, yeah. Except for this fella."

He took her in, the canary-yellow tea-dress with canvas shoes, the hair in a neat bun. "You stay safe, little bird. With or without Stranger."

On the eighth day, Sansa didn't show.


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa was a smart girl. She'd told him about all the precautions she was taking while out and about; if she did take ill, Sandor couldn't imagine that she'd have no contingency plan. No, the way she'd carried herself the previous day said this was something different. Something had been _off._ Maybe someone close to her was sick?

He'd vacillated about whether to send a text. He didn't want to behave as though he felt entitled to her time... but he _was_ worried. When 7pm came and went with no reply, he accepted that he was going to call her. But what was he going to say?

Hells, if the shoe were on the other foot, what would _she_ say?

"Hello?"

"Hey Sansa," he said, croaky after a day of not talking. "Just wanted to check in and make sure you're okay. Return the favour and all that... you didn't seem yourself yesterday."

"It's so kind of you to call," she said quietly. Alarm bells went off in Sandor's head. He knew that sort of quiet. Something had happened, not only happened but happened _to her_ , and she was hurting. "Especially when I stood you and Stranger up today. I'm so sorry for letting you down. For not calling." 

"You have _nothing_ to apologise for," he said.

She sighed down the phone, the turbulent air rustling through his speaker. "I should explain. I had a bit of a run-in with the other person I've been helping. I guess I was a little rattled. It brought back some bad memories. I just feel terrible for leaving you hanging today. A text wouldn't have been hard."

Sandor swallowed. "Nah, I don't agree. Sometimes a text is more than you can do. Sometimes you need to focus on keeping your head above water. I've been there, little bird. More often than I'd like."

"Thank you, Sandor," she said softly. "I should've known you would understand."

On the ninth day, Sansa offered to come a little earlier. She was back in her leggings and hoody, earphones in like she was ready for a workout.

"I'm free after 2 from now on, so if that suits you better I can move my date with Stranger!"

Sandor looked at her, her cheerfulness a little hollower than he'd become used to. "That run-in you had - I take it you're not stopping in on them any more."

"No."

"Are you still worried about them? Or is that the end of it?"

Sansa hesitated, and Stranger utterly failed to read the room when he whined, shuffling his paws. "I'm not sure."

He took a deep breath. "If you'd feel better having a big dog nearby, you'd be welcome to take Stranger. I can give you his food and stuff. Doesn't feel right, having you put yourself at risk for other people only to have it thrown in your face."

Her big blue eyes threatened to swallow him up. "That's so kind, Sandor. If I didn't live in a studio, I'd have to take you up on that."

Stranger cried again. 

"We can talk about it later," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

It turned out, the other guy in quarantine - assuming he was even in quarantine - had been harassing her. He'd been over-familiar from the start, trying to invite her in for tea in spite of the obvious. Every day he seemed to know more about her, claiming he knew her mother. And then it started getting worse. He sent her to pick up his pharmacy order, telling her on delivery that he wasn't on any prescription meds, just caffeine pills and Viagra. He asked her to collect his weeklies from the newsagent, then checked them when they arrived: an accountancy journal, a literary review and - to his poorly-feigned surprise - an adult magazine.

Down the phone, Sandor could hear the disgust and shame in her voice went she told him the guy had compared her to the buxom redhead on the cover. When Sansa told him she didn't think it was appropriate, he snapped and accused her of leading him on by bringing him porn mags and "tarting up" with every passing day.

"He called me a lot of names that I've had to take before. I just... walled myself up inside and let it wash over me. Except it didn't drain away, I marinated in it, and the next day I couldn't get out of bed. My ex used to say things like that, right before he did something worse."

Sandor didn't know what to say. 

"My brother burned my face," he blurted. "Pushed my face into the fire when I was a kid and he laughed about it. My parents covered it up. I have a hard time trusting people. It's not an easy thing to learn a second time. Every setback hurts."

"It gets better, right?" said Sansa hopefully. "You're able to trust people now."

_I trust you._

Fuck, he hadn't meant to say that out loud. Sansa laughed at him, and the familiar bitterness soured his gut until she said, "I trust you too."

On the tenth day, Sansa brought coffee again. The heavens opened almost the moment the doorbell rang, and so Sansa spent the afternoon sitting on his shoe-bench, sipping coffee, petting Stranger, and chatting through the door.


	5. Chapter 5

By the thirteenth day, Sandor still felt horribly weak and tired. Possibly moreso than in the days just after he’d been ill.

 _Post-viral fatigue_ , the maester had said on the phone. It would pass.

Every day he’d been pushing himself just a little; today he’d tried lifting weights in the spare bedroom, but to no avail. His arms felt like they were made of rubber.

Sansa took off with Stranger on the fourteenth day, and Sandor felt melancholy descend on him like fog on Blackwater Bay. Any normal person would be looking forward to the end of quarantine, but for Sandor felt more like a deadline than a finish-line. Although he’d offered to help with other people isolating, Sansa hadn’t brought it up again since; as far as he knew, after she left Stranger home this time, she might just bob off around the corner of his road and out of his life forever.

In just two short weeks, she’d become more significant to Sandor than he cared to think about. It was a damned nuisance, because his silly crush made him even worse company than he was ordinarily. The past few days, he’d barely been able to make conversation because he’d been so distracted – by the way the sunlight filtered through her hair, by her easy way with Stranger, by what it might feel like to kiss her.

And obviously, it wasn’t exactly likely that she’d want him to. All right, she did seem to like his company well enough in small doses. But she could do _so much better_ than a bitter loner like him. She’d have to be out of her mind, or incredibly desperate, and he wasn’t quite selfish enough to orbit the poor girl until one of them got their heart broken. What right had Sandor to muscle his way into her life, just so he could be on the lookout for a shot with her?

But there was some stubborn, masochistic part of him that refused to just let her walk away without… checking.

He sighed heavily and stared at his feet. “Sansa, I know I said I’d help you with the volunteer work, but I have to be honest.”

When his gaze returned to her face, she looked _sad_. So sad he stumbled.

“I offered to help on the spur-of-the-moment because-“

“Because you felt grateful, it’s okay,” she interrupted, face still fallen, lips pressing into a wan smile. “It’s a kind impulse, I understand if you’ve changed your-“

“No, fuck no,” Sandor protested. “I haven’t changed my mind. I just… I don’t want you thinking that I offered out of selflessness or good citizenship or whatever it is that gets you out on the pavement in a time like this. Because I just wanted to keep spending time with you. I don’t feel right doing that under false pretences.”

Though her eyes never left his, Sandor was conscious that her rest of her pretty face had softened, somehow.

“Well… thank you very much for your honesty,” she said graciously.

_Here it comes: thanks, but no thanks._

Except… nothing. She didn’t say anything, just kept looking at him expectantly, head slightly tilted to one side.

_Well, better hung for a sheep than for a lamb._

It wasn’t like he could ask her to go for a coffee or a drink or a burger, not with everything closed.

“I thought maybe tomorrow – assuming you’re not sick of this big hairy moron,” here, he scratched the dome of Stranger’s head for emphasis, “We could meet you up there at the corner - same time, same route?”

“I’d be delighted!” Sansa beamed, then she crouched to Stranger’s eye level. “This funny fella knows I’d miss him, doesn’t he?”

“Bet he’d miss you too,” said Sandor softly, a grin spreading slowly across his face.

* * *

If anyone at the corner of Stonefield Terrace and Septry Hill happened to look out their window during the lockdown, they’d have seen two tall figures – one dark and burly, one slim and fair – walking an enormous black dog.

They’d notice the pair getting worse and worse at observing social distancing as the spring evenings lengthened, even with the huge dog walking between them, so that the casual observer would categorise them as close contacts, not merely a small social gathering.

But before too long, they'd be left without any doubt. Any pretence was at last abandoned: the dog was held off to one side from the moment the figures got to the rendez-vous point, and they'd stride off unhurriedly towards Darry Park, blue-gloved hand tucked in blue-gloved hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but (I hope) sweet! Please stay safe, team SanSan. We will get through this and make a kinder world on the other side.


End file.
